


S. W. A. L. K

by recurringdreams



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: 1914-18, 1918, AU, Angst, Army, Army AU, Drama, F/M, First World War, First World War AU, Hurt/Comfort, POV Original Female Character, Part Epistolary, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychoanalysis, Romance, Shell Shock, WWI AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recurringdreams/pseuds/recurringdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She meets him in a battlefield hospital, suffering from shell shock. He returns to the front, and she doubts she'll see him again. Eight months later, and he is writing letters as part of his treatment from a recovery hospital in Surrey. His doctor Thomas Hiddleston, is an Ex-Field Surgeon, who just so happens to recognise the description of the field nurse Private Cumberbatch is writing to. The rest, as they say, is history.<br/>History, Sealed With A Loving Kiss. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“Private?!” I said softly, kneeling by his side, “Private Cumberbatch.” At the sharpness in my tone, his hand clutched at the sheet beside my own, and I sighed, taking his long fingers between mine. "Benedict, can you hear me?"<br/>His fingers clasped around mine and his keening subsided a little way.<br/>"Please... Make it-make it stop."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Parade's End, Birdsong and The Crimson Field have been annoyingly stuck in my head. This is a fairly detailed attempt at getting them out.  
> I'm still currently researching for historical accuracy, so please feel free to correct me if it's anachronistic!

"Goodnight, nurse!" The soft tones of Field Surgeon Hiddleston called out as I pulled the tent-flaps shut and smiled to myself. It was high time I got to take these shoes off and curl up into bed. I would take any moment of sleep I could, at this point, the men were coming in thick and fast, missing different parts of theirselves. I had to admit that it was wearing, coming up to November with the rain and mud coming thick and fast upon the field of battle. But the men had it worse than I - I was not likely to lose a limb.

  
I tucked my pillow under my head and sighed miserably. It was going to rain, and if it rained, I knew the field hospital would go right to shit. Part of me choked with laughter at the thought of those swear words dancing around my brain. Three months ago, I would never have considered them a part of my vocabulary. Today, they had invaded my thoughts, and I had used them more frequently today than I had expected to use them in a lifetime. Smiling tiredly to myself, I let my eyes close against the dim light of the evening, and took a deep breath, letting my mind slip away. Back to Blighty, where I could get a solid cup of tea.  
  
-  
  
It had been thundering for less than thirty seconds, the hoarse shouts breaking through the darkness of the camp even before the lightning could crack upon the horizon. I was first out of my bed, tripping miserably on the uneven footboards, familiar with the voice that was calling for their Captain, screaming, screaming louder as I ran barefoot through the camp and into the ward tent.

  
“Private?!” I said softly, kneeling by his side, “Private Cumberbatch.” At the sharpness in my tone, his hand clutched at the sheet beside my own, and I sighed, taking his long fingers between mine. "Benedict, can you hear me?"

  
His fingers clasped around mine and his keening subsided a little way.

  
"Please... Make it-make it stop." He whimpered eventually, twisting his fingers together as he gripped at mine. I gently lifted my free hand to his face and pulled him slowly into a sitting position. "Can we go?" He opened his eyes slowly, meeting mine with hope lighting the corners. I smiled slowly at him, gently pressing my hand to his back. His fingers shook gently in mine as I slowly led him away towards the Surgeons' quarters. As we crossed the field, my arm around his shaking form, fat droplets of rain began to fall, and his whimpers began to rise in volume once more.

"Shh, shh..." I wanted to soothe him. I wanted to wrap the poor man in a blanket and keep him in my arms until the dam broke and he could cry, instead of simply shaking in his boots, holding it in. Before I could even lift my hand to knock on the light wood, the door swung open and Field Surgeon Hiddleston lifted a lamp up into our eyes. "It's okay, Benedict. See, Thomas will look after us." I looked up at him, grinning, "Thank you, Tom."

"It's not a problem, nurse." He rested his free arm on the doorframe, nodding lightly at me, "could hear him over the thunder. Do you need to borrow an office again?"

"Please?" I smiled up at him, aware that both men towered over me. "I could use a hand getting him in."

The taller man slipped his arm around the Private, and I watched as he aided him easily, stronger legs and arms supporting a bruised, scared young man. Benedict was still shaking as I settled him on a wooden stool by the fire grate. The Surgeons' quarters were dark, lit only by the fires in each room, and, as I set about lighting matches and kindling, Thomas working on a pot of tea from his own fire, I looked up at the young Private in the half light. He was exhausted, not unlike most of the men out here, but there was something beyond that, hidden in his eyes. The poor man was, quite simply, wrecked. His body shook from nowhere in particular, as though a second man was jolting him back and forth in his chair, attempting to make him explode as the kindling caught and I bent down to ensure the flames sprang further to life.

Thomas pushed the door open a few minutes later, his fingers shaking the tray ever so slightly, wanting to alert Benedict to his presence.

"No biscuits, I'm afraid."

"Couldn't you rustle any up?" We had established a ritual among the men who fell to these fits of more-than-hysterics. I, or the nurse who was watching over the ward, would bring them to a room in these quarters and simply sit with them, brew a warm drink of tea, until their rouble had subsided.

"End of the week, darling." Benedict's head lifted, his eyes darting around nervously, at Thomas' slightly raised voice, "won't get any until at least Monday. The weather's had the boys all over the place." Almost affectionately he placed his hand on Benedict's shoulder, "you've been here a good three times, haven't you, mate?" Although Thomas spoke the truth, Benedict flushed red and looked away.

"I don't mean to... To do it." He murmured, hands shaking in place against his thighs, "I know I'm... I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not a bother, Private." I smiled up at him, running my fingers along the hem of the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "I give you my solemn promise, if you are ever to become a bother, I shall inform you." I laughed, smiling kindly at him with a gentle squeeze to his bicep.

"You... I woke you." He murmured, looking left and right to see where Thomas was stood. He was not a fan of being surprised in the dark, but he kept his hands on the mug of tea in his lap as the surgeon came to sit beside him on a second stool. Though Benedict was still shaking, companionship such as ours was nothing short of a salve, covering a desperate, festering psychological wound.

"That you did, Private. But as you know there's nothing a nurse won't do for her favourite patient." I knew I was breaking some of the rules by treating Benedict as I was, but there was something about the young man that broke my heart. We sat together for another hour, saying no more words as we looked between one another, Thomas excusing himself after a little while to get back to sleep. Quietly, I shifted the long couch in the corner of the office, and led Benedict to lie down upon it, ensuring the shutters were down and there would be no further disruptions to his sleep.

Gently resting my hand upon his forehead, I smiled and quietly took a seat on the chair behind the desk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-explicit mentions of amputation, blood, vomit.

It was morning when Thomas opened the door to the Captain's study. He smiled at me as I sat up, opening my eyes and slowly stretched my neck. Without speaking, he lifted his hand and gestured toward the empty couch, looking across at me with a shrug.

  
"He didn't wake you?"

  
"Not in the slightest." I blinked, sleepily and my brows furrowed slightly, wondering where Benedict had gone. "He must have slipped away early, though. Not long after I fell asleep." Thomas chuckled and shook his head. 

  
"You're needed at breakfast. Or you'll be missed and they'll think I took you in." I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and he smiled as he helped me to my feet. I smiled up at him, feeling tiny against his height, but he posed me no threat. He was a kind man, big eyed and friendly, though when I had sent letters home with pictures of our staff wrapped inside, my friends had immediately demanded to know why we were so friendly, and yet had made no announcements. Tom and I were, however, simply friends, thrown together by this most heinous of circumstances. I averted my gaze after a few seconds and shook my head.

  
"These nurses do talk, don't they?" 

  
"You ought to know, you're one of them!" I blushed again, turning my face away and slipping my feet into the slippers that laid by the fire. They're too large for me, for sure, but when I had woken to the young Private I had no time to slip on shoes. The poor man had needed me, I wasn't going to tarry. Thomas often joked that I should lay a pair of my own slippers beside the fire, I was needed in here so often, but I did not dare. The women I worked with gossiped enough, I did not need to add fuel to the flames.

A few minutes later, I was stood in the mess, looking at the trays of food I had to share about. They were certainly unappetising, bread a little stale, innumerable pots of weak tea about to be poured for the men around me, but I knew it was for the best. For the moment, I was attending to the men who had no means of moving to a table to eat, though my mind was drifting to the Privates and Lieutenants whose minds had been distressed by the previous night’s storms. I kept an eye on the tents around us, peeking through the flaps as I passed them, hoping to catch the eye of one of the sisters so that I could have a word.

“You have to stop taking them into the Surgeons’ quarters, nurse.” I hung my head as Sister Foyle shook her head at me. “The boys don’t much like their space being taken over.”

“I never let them wake the surgeons,” I whispered, “I’ve done my best to ensure that they remain perfectly undisturbed. The men simply… I help them calm down, leave them to sleep, let them go in the mornings.”

“It’s not that you disturb anyone…” the Sister said kindly, “It’s that they worry you’ll want to take over their quarters as nursemaid to, and this is a quote from Field Surgeon Collins, ‘those snivelling coward boys, too scared to go back up the line’.” My face went bright pink and if anything I tried to hide my face in the collar of my shirt in order to hide it away. “It’s not my words, darling girl.”

“And it’s not fair of him to call them cowards, but it seems like he shall be the one to get his way.” I fought the burning at the corners of my eyes for as long as I possibly could, looking down and away at the low fire in the corner. “I shall find another place to look after them.”

“I will do my best to help you, nurse. I have come to believe that the longer this goes on, the more distressed these boys have been. They are not cowards.”

“No, Sister, they are not.” I nodded, raising my eyes to look into her face, “But if we cannot… if there is nowhere to take them…”

“I will speak to the Captain. He has a room that’s, well, quite empty unless one of the Majors requires a rest.”

“Which is not often, is it?” Hopeful now, I dared to smile at her. “Is there a couch? A desk?  A fire?”

“I believe there is everything, and a bed to boot.”

I felt electric, as though there had been a live wire touched to my hand. Smiling up at Sister Foyle, I adjusted my skirts and apron, and clutched my hands to my chest.

“And you’re sure… you think I shall be able to borrow it?”

“I shall have to ask him, but I am most positive that we shall find a space for you, and your boys, and soon.”

I could have kissed her. Could have thrown my arms around her and held her long into the night. She was giving me the opportunity to make a difference, to calm the men who were suffering psychologically, to help them, and bring them to a new, safe place which allowed them to breathe. Quietly, I thanked her again, smiling broadly one more time and then took to my duties once more. Washing, bleaching, drying and rolling bandages was not the most exciting of tasks, but being able to do something which required little active attention allowed me to think of the actions I would need to take in the future to ensure the men who came back sleepless, panicked and in shock did not suffer for too long.

 

-

 

Twenty minutes later, as I was dipping dirty bandages in hot water, cleaning them off and slopping them into fresh bleach, I caught the shadow of a man standing over me on the duckboards. Glancing up – half expecting Thomas to be stood there – I was taken aback by the kind smile that met my own.

“G-good morning,” Benedict swept his cap off, his hand shaking as he held it by his side, “I wanted to thank you for… for looking after me, last night.” He stumbled over his words, cheeks reddening as he smiled at me.

“You make it sound like it was a chore,” I replied simply, “Do you feel any better this morning?”

“I feel m-mostly sound.” He tried to smile, though his eyes remained downcast as he fiddled with his cap. “Not completely, m-mind you.” His lips quirked again, and I ran a hand along the bandage I was holding, for want of telling him he would be fine and squeezing his arm, all gentle and kind.

“Understandable, Private. Nobody quite feels comfortable here, do they?” Pausing, I reached into my pocket, and drew out a small packet of cigarettes. “I tell you what, how about you light me one of these, and sit under that tree, keep watch on the camp for me? Be nice for you to take a breather away from the others, won’t it?” I gave him my hand to help him settle against the barrel of dirty bandages.

“D-do you mind? ’s closer than the tree. Won’t have to shout.”

“That’s certainly fair.”

He smiled slightly, “I’d like to be away from them a little b-bit.” He looked away again, eyes dark, smile gone. “The lists are back for those getting sent up the line again.” My heart dropped from my chest to the pit of my stomach. If the lists were back and ready, then it was only a matter of time before a man with no visible injuries, and no _physical scars_ was sent back to the front. The man in front of me was certainly eligible to be sent away.

“You’re… not going back, are you?”

“Well, I’m not going back home.” He said simply, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath, “D-don’t know if I’ll ever see m’mother again.”

“I’m sure you will, Private.” Carefully, so as to avoid the muddy boots and even muddier trousers, I crouched down beside him and squeezed his hand. He looked up at me with glassy eyes and for a moment, I forgot the words of comfort and care that I wanted to say. Instead, my lips parted in a sad sigh and I looked to the wooden boards, unable to find inspiration.

“How can you be so sure, n-nurse?” He said softly, and when I looked up, I realised his eyes were trained on mine. He was desperate to know that it would not be the end, and I could not promise him that he would return.

“The angels.” I smiled, and even though we both knew it was a hollow promise, “I’ve made a pact. Every man I’ve cared for here, who has to go back out there…” And now I had started, I couldn’t stop, “will return from the front, and make a recovery so full that they will be damn near unrecognisable from the boys living in this hell.”

“I d-don’t think you’re s’posed to call it hell.” He smiled ever so slightly and I took a deep breath.

“I’m well aware of what I’m supposed to call things, Private,” I tipped him a wink, however, and gently squeezed his hand again, “But let us not mince words. It has been anything but a holiday for you here, and I doubt you will be taking any…” I sighed, “Any tangible _souvenirs_ , eh?”

“ _Oui,_ ” He chuckled, raising his hand gently to his head, as though to think of the land and the war was to bring on a physical pain. I supposed that it was, and rested my hand against his shoulder in an attempt to provide solidarity, “I can’t even speak the local l-lingo.”

“Not many of us can.” I straightened up, “But you have tried, I assume.”

“And failed.” He sighed, his head _thunking_ back on the barrel as his entire body drooped. “It’s hard.”

“It is. But I am sure, as you have with a hundred other things recently, you’ll manage to get a handle on it. Eventually.”

“You have more f-faith in us than I think we do, nurse.”

“Then you are a daft man, Private. I might not be a doctor like Surgeon Hiddleston, but I know when there is no coming back from the brink. I believe that you boys just need a friendly hand and you’ll be there.”

“You sound like Sister Davies.”

“Perhaps I have been working under her for too long.”

“I should be sad if you were to turn out like her. She tries hard but doesn’t understand that it’s nicer to be left alone sometimes.”

“I shall make an attempt to inform her. Though I might be stuck folding bandages for my trouble.” I chuckled and he aimed a playful kick at my ankle. “Now, now, Private, none of that.”

“None of what?” I jumped in surprise at the sound of Thomas’ voice from the far end of the boards, and Private Cumberbatch hurriedly made his way back to his feet, standing up and looking out across at him.

“N-nothing, Sir.” He stood straighter and I reached out to Thomas, gesturing that he should tone down the accusation in his voice.

“We were talking, he got cheeky and I told him he shouldn’t be speaking to his nurse like that,” As I said it, I could feel the tension radiating from Benedict begin to lessen, his shoulders dropping a little, “I might poison him if he’s going to act like a schoolboy.”

“I’m twenty six.” He said vehemently from beside me, with the tone of a man who had had to explain his youthful visage more than a hundred times in his army career.

“Well act like it then,” I laughed and Thomas smiled as he caught up to us. “What’s wrong?” He tugged me aside quietly, frowning sadly.

“I need a hand with an amputation. Daniels’ foot has gone to gangrene.”

“We ought to get along then. Can’t have him stumbling around on rot.”

“I’ve asked Sister Davies to write up a Blighty report, he can’t go back out like he is. But we need to take the foot.”

“I’ll be along. Prepare him, I’ll bring some of the bandages along.” Nodding at me quietly, Thomas tipped his cap at Benedict and took his leave.

“Should you like me to roll those bandages… I’d-I- I’d be glad of something to do, nurse.” I turned as Benedict spoke.

“You should be recovering.”

“You need an extra p-pair of hands.”

“We’ve managed thus far.” I smiled at him, gently patting his arm.

“Let me do it. Please?” He took my hand, “You do so bloody much, I want to give a bit back.”

“It’s my job, Private Cumberbatch.”

“And I’m going spare.” I had never seen such determination in a man’s eyes, and I knew that no matter how much I argued, I would be beaten down. “You’ve rolled them. It’s not hard. I’m not s-s-stupid, either.”

“I know, Benedict.” The corners of his lips quirked a little more as I used his first name, not his rank, “Thank you. I’ll owe you one for this.”

“Just… I don’t know. See if you can get a hold of a couple of extra fags for me.”

“We’ll see.” I squeezed his arm again and smiled. “I should be back in an hour or so.”

He nodded, silently running his fingers along the bandages.

“I’ll get it all done.”

“You are a good man.”

“I try!” He waved me off as I strode away from the washing station, padding back to the surgery tent.

 

\-----

 

It had been a long time since I had vomited at the sight of a young man’s injuries, but Lieutenant Daniels’ foot and ankle were obscene. I spent much of my time with my eyes shut, trying not to breathe as the scent washed over me with each of the motions Thomas made.

Eventually, and with a sympathetic smile, he requested that I sought out some fresh, clean bandages, perhaps noting that I was close to collapse. The moment I was out of the dark, grimly scented tent, I was bent double and retching. The stench had been vile, and as I stood, gulping down the fresher air, I fought back tears at the thought of having to nurse Daniels back to enough health to send him back home.

Quickly and quietly, I crossed over to the supplies station, gathering a wad of bandages and hurrying to bring them back. As I turned around, glancing up and over the length of the encampment, Benedict raised his hand from the mangle and waved. Before I could think further, I was waving back, smiling slowly and turning back to the tent.

It was at least three hours before Daniels was ready to go back to the ward. The day had slipped into darkness and I was damn near exhausted. I checked my watch and sighed softly, all I wanted was dinner and a good night’s sleep.

Thomas watched me as I wrapped the stump in fresh gauze. He patted my shoulder gently, nodding at me as I kept wrapping, thankful that there wasn’t much seepage. I had experienced men bleeding out, choking on gas and blisters in their lungs as they came to their last.

“You all right, darling?” He smiled, squeezing my shoulder as I finished tying the bandage over Daniels’ leg. I nodded quietly, wiping a hand over my brow. “Time for a brew, I think?”

“I agree,” I whispered, yawning softly.

“And a sit down, apparently.” I laughed and nodded, before looking at the bandages in my hands.

“Damn.”

I sprinted from the tent and across to where I had left Private Cumberbatch straightening the bandages what felt like an hour before. He was nowhere to be found, but had left the bandages in a tidy little pyramid, rolled from the start to the end in the neatest of piles as he had pressed and dried them. I took them down to the supplies station and ducked into the tent.

“Evening!” I called to Heather, smiling slightly as she looked up at me.

“Bandages?”

“Clean and pressed.” I held them out, smiling at her.

“Camp’s awful quiet tonight. Since the boys left, I mean.” She said it flippantly, but, not for the first time this afternoon, my heart jumped in my chest and I gasped.

“They’ve…” I looked out of the tent and around at the silent field. Nobody stood smoking outside the ward tents, no laughter or cards were being played near the mess tent. “When did they go?”

“Just after dark. There was talk that the Germans had been looking out for men to send straight back to hospital, so they pushed it back an hour or so.” She took the bandages slowly, and I felt a tightness rise in my throat. “Your boys, some of them, weren’t they?”

“My boys?”

“That screaming Private. The one with the long name and the pretty eyes. He came in here looking for you, to tell you he had to finish, he was off soon. Didn’t he catch you, before he left?”

“No.” He didn’t. He had waved. He had smiled and waved and known that he was leaving and he hadn’t told me. I heard myself speaking, asking where they were going, whether they would be along this way anytime soon.  Heather was shaking her head, telling me that they were moving up towards Ypres. There had been wind of a big push, the first of many. Whether it succeeded or failed, they were unlikely to be back.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and squeezed the tray tighter.

He was gone.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VAD - Voluntary Aid Detachment (a voluntary organisation providing field nursing services, mainly in hospitals)

**Benedict**

 

‘I spent nights and nights thinking of her face. She would be stood over me, stroking her hand over my forehead or offering me a cup of tea and when I would take her hand, she would offer me one of her smiled and disappear into the night. 

Some of the men would laugh at me. Tell me they had been to that Field Hospital, the one so close to Poperinge, but had no idea who I was thinking of. After they told me that I spent more nights imagining that I was insane.

The dugouts were bleak of a morning, and this November it was no different. We had been stuck under a damned barrage for the past three hours, and it showed no sign of closing. There were shells dropping everywhere, and I could barely think without the whistle or the _crrrump_ of a shell landing over us.

"It's not coming to an end!" I called out over the cacophony of noise. "I thought the message was eleven o'clock?"

"I don't know!?" I turned to my Sergeant and looked at him.

"You brought the message through! What in God's name is going on out there!?"

It went on. It went on and on and soon I was rubbing my eyes and ears. Sore. Sore. Everything was sore by the time there was a lull in activity.

Slowly and carefully, I stretched out and rubbed my face as I padded into the twilight. The men were staring about, each one spending half their time looking into the faces of their companions, and the other half of the time lifting their eyes over the parapet, seeking out the Jerries on the other side.

There had been word that I was supposed to make a speech. I had tried to write a few words on the paper that they had passed on to me, but nothing was forthcoming. Nothing but the pretty nurse. She would have known what to say. What to do when I had been faced with the young Private, shaking and screaming as he crawled to me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying not to think of those incidents. They coloured far more of my time in France than I had wished for them to.

When the time came, and the men were gathered around the fire, my Sergeant patted me upon the shoulder and I stood upon the duckboards, staring into the eyes of the men who had served under me, served beside me. More than one of them was crying. Some were shaking, clutching at the arm of another to stop the tremors. I took another breath and turned my head left and right, seeking out the eyes of a man who would hold my gaze. Someone I could speak to.

"Men. You have done... Men. You are..." There were no words. As I looked into the faces of the men around me, saw the weary eyes of men who I knew to be youths, old beyond their years. I couldn't even begin to bring the words to the front. I couldn't even comprehend it myself.’

 

- 

 

"Now, the letter." Doctor Fassbender held his hand out for the diary, making another motion for me to start reading the blotted paper in my hands.

"M-must I read it aloud?"

"We're not simply working on your catharsis, Benedict." They had stopped calling me Captain when I had been admitted to the hospital, one way of helping me readjust, "your stammer was brought on by the stress of the field. I want to ascertain how well I can treat that, too."

"Y-yes. Of course." I unfurled the paper. "It's not... It's not long." 

"It doesn't matter the length, as long as it says what you need it to."

"I think it does." I took a deep breath and started to read.

 

_My boys. That's what you became out here. You have stood and fought on beyond your years. And I know you are not all the ages you have sworn, so for some... You will have fought beyond what is natural for you. You have all grown up here. No matter your ages now or before, and we... We ought to remember that our girls have grown up too._

_We are... We were, this morning, on the victorious side. The side of the king and his right. The allied forces, brave, and strong. You men are all of these things._

_I have served with you, beside you and in promotion, I hope I have led you right. I thank you for your service. I thank all of you for the services you have provided us these past four years. You are the bravest of men. Your hearts are those of lions._

_Our fallen brothers... Shall be remembered. Not a day shall pass without their memory, and if there is a day which does, we have not won a war._

_On the evening, now this victory has passed and we are to return home, I can only say that it has been an honour to fight with you. To stand beside you against Jerry, and to beat him._

_Now, now it is the time to rest. To think of the world at peace and to take our time to accept that peace. Make peace with everything around us. At home, it will be different. Your wives will have waited, they may have longed for you - they will have held your letters and cried into their pillows, I am sure. But they will not understand what you have seen. The men you have seen. Have buried. Have saved. They will not accept that not all of this was good, will not understand that you are still here. A part of you shall always remain on the battlefield, lost to the rest of you. You have done things here that you cannot be proud of. But you must remain strong in the singular belief that you-you-you-_

 

There were blotches, dripping onto the paper as I wept into my sleeve. Fassbender was guiding me into a chair, opposite his desk and in the soft glare of the sun. He pushed a tissue into my hand and leaned easily against the desk as he watched me. My heart shrank, I was pathetic. 

"Deep breaths, son," he was the same age as I was, son, I rolled my eyes through the sticky tears.

"D-don't you s-son me." I swiped at my cheeks with the backs of my cuffs, shaking at the unfamiliar feel of soft cotton. Fassbender's hand settled in my shoulder again and the weight of it calmed me, at least enough for my vision to clear. He chuckled and squeezed my shoulder, I let out a shaky sigh and buried my head into my palms.

"Seems to have helped calm you down." He smiled, releasing my shoulder and returning to his perch upon the edge of his desk. 

"The m-methods I had been exposed to on the f-front weren't unlike yours."

"Methods?" I hadnt spoken of them before. I looked up at him and nodded.

"I... Was looked after by the establish-sh-shed Field Hospital outside of P-P-Poperinge."

"We knew that, Captain. But nobody had disclosed why you were there-"

"I'm getting th-there." I didn't talk of it often, but when I did, I didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"Sorry. Go on."

"It was after the first battle up there. My n-nerves had gone to utter shreds, I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Every t-t-time I took in food it came back up. The boys thought it best to s-s-send me back for a little bit." I ran a hand over my face again, tugging at the hair that fell over my eyes. "I need a hair cut." I coughed. "They put me in a w-ward with people who screamed at n-night."

"Did you scream?" Fassbender was making notes frantically.

"I didn't realise, but y-yes. The third n-night, a nurse had her hand on my forehead and I had taken a b-b-bite at her other hand before another nurse came a-along." I took a breath, remembering the shock on her face as she had lifted her hand and offered it to me. "Sh-sh-she took my hand and helped me out of bed and we went for a w-walk." I blushed at the thought. "She let me stand in the darkness, sat down watching me as I started to b-breathe again."

"It made you calm?"

"I could breathe again in the dark. I st-still spoke with the st-st-stammer but she said it wasn't so bad. Better than me screaming." He nodded and made another note, "She took me away every time I screamed in the night. Started letting me talk, letting me read from the books in the Surgeons' quarters, letting me sleep in a real b-building," the faster I spoke the less I stammered. The less my words struggled to get out, the less I had trouble thinking and talking and breathing. I could see her, lit by the fireside with her arms wrapped around her knees as she listened to me. She had truly been beautiful in those dark nights, she was surely beautiful in the days, too. Quietly I lifted my eyes to meet Fassbender's, biting at my lip with nerves.

"She cared for you?"

"To the best of her ability. I believe she was in the VAD. I didn't learn her name, beyond that she was nurse McCullough. She said she wasn't t-t-technically allowed to say."

"She was quite correct. They were told not to forge too many relationships in their service."

"I r-regret not saying goodbye."

"Understandable." Fassbender nodded at me, and I looked down and away, "do you think you have the words you wanted to say to her? The words you'd say to her face?"

"N-no." I blushed, the colour coming far more easily in the hospital than it ever had before. "But I know how I feel. I could write about that, sh-should you like me to?"

"Not today, Benedict. This afternoon I would like you to put yourself in your corporal's shoes. The letter you read to me earlier, that was the beginning of your understanding. I want you to write from them, to you. Tell me who they were. What they wanted to say as they stood before you on the worst morning of their lives."

"The third Ypres?" I lifted my eyes again.

"The very same. Take the afternoon to write, perhaps outside? It was nice earlier. Perhaps you should take in the blossom on the trees? We shall meet here tomorrow, same time." 

He stood and offered me his hand, smiled and nodded at me, once. I smiled, we shook hands, and parted.

 

.

 

**Dr. Fassbender**

 

"Dr Fassbender?" The young man's soft voice made me start as I turned from observing Lieutenant Cumberbatch through the window. He had settled himself beneath a tree with his eyes set firmly on the paper before him. Though his handwriting was near illegible due to his tremor, he would not spend his time ensuring that he could read the words that he was writing. His fingers were trembling furiously over the paper as he scrawled the words across the page.

"Hiddleston. Come in." I looked up into the eyes of a young man with no troubles. His cheeks were sharp and his gaze sharper.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Cumberbatch. You know him from Poperinge." His eyebrows, blonde as they were, shot into his hairline.

"How do you Know that name? Is he one of your patients? We thought he'd bought it at the battle of the Marne." We. We was good.

"He's recovering under me, yes. Keeps going on about an angel nurse from the Field Hospital. Name of McCullough."

"She was VAD, Michael. I think she was a typist back home. One of my nurses knew her better." He lifted his hand to the door, “I can get her for you, if you’d like?”

“It’s okay. I’d like to think on this a little further. The poor man is still half-traumatised.” I turned back to the window, “Do you think he would appreciate it just yet?” The young man kept his eyes on the paper, still scrawling the words, his face taking on a darker and darker look as we watched from my office. Hiddleston gripped my shoulder silently, smiling as he stood beside me.

“Maybe he might like to see an old friend first?”


	4. Chapter 4

I wrote long into the evening, keeping an eye on the length of the shadows as they payed around me, scribbling on leaf after leaf of the cheap, hospital paper. My pen spattered every few words, and I cringed with every wasted drop of ink. There was an expectation now ingrained within me the I would be reprimanded with every fault. It had been the same for the months that I had been edging myself away from the army, and with the near free reign over my time... It was awful. I missed the routine. The sleepless nights, the watches, hell, I missed the raids.

  
I knew it was wrong of me. I knew it was disgusting but there had been some satisfaction in it. The sheer animal satisfaction of killing another man in defence of your fellows, in defence of the nation.

  
The pen spattered across the page again and I jolted. My thoughts escaped me sometimes and it terrified me to think that a part of me had found a home among the men out there. The savage men, torn to pieces and shrieking, helping them or drawing them back into the relative safety of the front line trenches.

  
Safety.

  
I closed my eyes and cringed at even the thought of it. Safety. I could feel it now, sick in my chest, sick in my heart... I hated to think back to those times now. It was wrong, although Dr. Fassbender suggested that to be able to look to the future, it was necessary to understand the miseries I had seen. The miseries I had experience of. I didn't want to look to the future, bleak as it was. What would I do when I was no longer in the hospital? The question burned in my mind as I laid down my pen and gathered my things for dinner. It became increasingly humiliating to join the others at dinner, they would include me and I would cringe as I had to s-s-stammer my way through an-an-another c-c-conversation.

 

-

As we returned to our rooms - how sweet it was to be able to afford a room, to sleep in peace, to scream in peace, to cry in peace - I took the chance to whip a few more sheets of paper from the supply store. Now that Fassbender had mentioned writing my goodbyes to the Angel Nurse, I couldn't bear to think of anything but speaking to her again, to say how sorry I was, to speak to her once again - even if she wasn't there to listen. I wanted to write as much as I could to stop thinking of dour and dire and choking on gas and the stench of death and every man trapped in the mud.

  
I had to clutch at the door jamb to ensure I didn't fall to the floor. My chest hurt and I choked on the stench of mustard gas. I staggered slightly and took deep breaths, though I was sure my lungs would burn and blister, and the sheets of paper scattered to the floor. I sobbed softly, keening in to the empty hallway, until the gentle hand of an orderly steered me toward my room. As the familiar sight of the photograph of my parents swam into view - I was in bed, how did I get in bed? - I blinked and began to calm. The papers were settled to the left of the photograph no doubt mixed in with the chicken scratch I had attempted to write in the gardens. I took another slow breath and thanked the Lord for my parents. Though they had been more than disappointed that I had entered the ranks as a 'mere Private', young, naive and wasted, according to my father, when they had seen me off the train, shaking, wrecked and stammering a muted greeting to them, they had pulled me into their arms and made all kinds of promises they had yet to break.

  
Sitting up slowly, I pulled at the confines of my sheets and padded my way to the bathroom. My pyjamas needed a wash - they could likely stand up on their own - but I knew I was not a priority. I wouldn't be in danger of an infection, not with my psychological scars, and I washed often enough. As I lifted the blankets to look upon my bed, I jumped as a shadow crossed my doorway.

  
"Benedict?" I lifted my head and relaxed as I found myself staring at Dr. Fassbender.

  
"D-Doctor? Is everything all right?" He squinted in the half light and I adjusted my lamp, turning it up bright.

  
"It's all fine, but... Well, do you mind if I disturb you?"

  
"Come i-i-in." I swept my hand out and around the room, "Sit anywhere." He alighted on the chair beneath the window.  
"I have some questions for you, in light of some things that have come recently to my attention."

  
"Ask away," I settled on my bed, sitting with my legs crossed. He watched me keenly for a few moments, the lamp flickering ominously and sending shadows across the wall.

  
"I wonder," he started after a few moments, inclining his head towards the sheets of paper I had stolen an hour before, "do you remember much of your time at the field hospital? Aside from the Angel Nurse?" He called her that with little irony or sarcasm in his voice. He seemed to believe she was real, even if nobody else would.

  
"A c-c-couple of the surgeons were k-k-kind, I slept often in their C-C-Captains' quarters... One used to make us tea wh-when we would arrive, make jokes with the nurse. They were friends, I th-think. I reckoned he was as s-s-sweet on her as I was..." As I am.

  
"Do you remember a name?"

  
"Hiddlesworth? Hiddles... Something?" I flushed, remembering exactly, but regretting that I had not taken the time to thank him for his kindness more.

  
When I had been out and about in the hospital, it had been hard to watch them from afar. Their easy friendship had grated on me, simply because it would have been poor form for me to treat her in the same way. I often wondered whether they would marry after the war, as close as they seemed to be. He was kind enough, it would see her well and prove no trouble to him. She was beautiful, their children would be too.

  
"His name was Thomas Hiddleston, I believe," I smiled at Fassbender after a little while of thinking, "he was kind, h-h-helped out with the lads with... L-l-like me..."

  
"Are you aware of what became of him?"

  
"Did he get sent up the line?" If he had, then it was likely that he was injured. Or dead.

  
"No," Fassbender smiled kindly, "nothing like that."

  
"Then I couldn't b-b-begin to imagine."

  
"Quite to the point. He came up to work triage here. Spends his days in the operating theatre in the central building. I'm surprised you hadn't seen him before, but he mostly keeps himself to himself." He smiled, "he's recently taken a wife, I believe."

  
"S-S-Spends a lot of t-t-time with her, then?" My heart dropped at the notion. Out of my chest and into the pit of my stomach where it settled itself. I didn't know why I had mentioned it. Fassbender levelled his gaze at me.

  
"Something like that. He's with... an ex-VAD woman." My head shot up. It had to be her. It absolutely had to. There was no logic to it being anyone else. They had been damn near inseparable at the front. "He said he'd like to see you, for breakfast or the like, to see how you're getting on. I think it would be good for you to see him, to see them both. A little closure."

  
"I'll m-meet with him, then. And the g-g-girl."

  
"You will?" He sounded stunned. I nodded simply, suddenly aware that there was justice in the world and if that justice was good she would remember be. She called me her favourite. I could, perhaps, be her favourite again. Perhaps I was her favourite still. All that mattered to me was that I would see her again. Though I knew it was unlikely that she would, as they were recently wed, acknowledge any affection I held for her, I had to say something. Had to do something. It mattered that I had the opportunity to see her again. It was all that truly mattered, at this point. To see her smile and perhaps to hear her speak my name.

  
"Of course I will," I smile at him, emotions roiling in my chest, "they're old f-f-friends I did not have the chance to th-th-thank."

  
"They suggested you might like to join them for breakfast, early tomorrow."

  
"A c-c-cooked one?" I chuckled hopefully, looking up at the good doctor.

  
"We shall have to see. I asked if I could join your little party."

  
"Marvellous!" I grinned further, "how early is early?"

  
"The foyer for eight."

  
"All r-r-right," I nodded my head quietly, "I ought to get a n-n-night's rest, then." I gestured at the bed and summoned a yawn.

  
"Of course," he nodded back at me and I shammed a second yawn, staring Fassbender down as he stood and trundled off to his own quarters. I had assumed that all of the physicians had shared a set of quarters, but, being settled here and hearing that Hiddleston and my angel nurse were tucked up in their own, private space... I was a little thrown.

  
Silenced for the evening, I swung myself into the relative comfort of my own bed and curled up, staring at the ceiling. I could almost feel her, though I had never laid with her before. She was curled up into my side and murmuring softly, telling me it would all be all right. With the thought that she had been less than a mile away from me for so long, that we could have had our friendship, perhaps made it more and yet, nothing... I cringed and looked away, a small smile lighting my features as I closed my eyes and saw her face. I fell asleep imagining her. It had been too long.

 

-

The morning came swiftly, for the first time in months I felt well rested and ready for the day. Blinking at the clock as I pulled on my pair of socks, I realised that it was even before seven, and I was ready to face the day. Dressing, and pulling myself out of bed, I took a razor to the stubble on my jaw and rubbed my eyes slowly. At half past seven, I slipped on my boots - familiar, solid, army issue - and made my way down to the entryway. Blinking, I stood in the sunlight streaming in through the open oak doors and sighed.

  
Today. It was today.

  
Half jazzed on my own thoughts, I paced quietly around the foyer, impatient already and glaring at the stairs, willing Fassbender to hurry along. Every five minutes, I stared at the clock, willing the second hand to move faster, the moments to go quicker.

  
"Benedict!" Fassbender's voice mad me jump, so absorbed had I been in clock watching. I smiled at him and paced toward him.

  
"Good m-morning!" I stumbled over the words, watching him as he blinked the last vestiges of sleep away.

  
"A lovely one to greet old friends," he smiled. I lifted my head a little in acknowledgement, preferring not to trust my voice. "Now, Thomas said you might get a bit of a shock-"

  
"I'm sure I've seen p-plenty enough that nothing sh-shocks me anymore." I forced a chuckle and winked at him. "I'll be f-fine."

  
"I'm sure you will." He smiled and clapped his hand to my shoulder, "shall we, then?"

  
"Absolutely." I grinned and followed him out into the grounds.

  
Seeking some kind of grand conversation, Fassbender found himself detailing the history of the hospital as we walked down the long gravel pathway. I was momentarily concerned that he was worried about filling the void left by my silence, for he continued to speak no matter the response he was getting, but he seemed to be a chirpy, social kind of morning man, and as we made our way down a short deviation from the path, he turned to me, his face a little darker now.

  
"I apologise for the history lesson, I realise now that you may have heard fragments before."

  
"Not that I know of? I d-don't think I even r-remember coming this way."

  
"You've been down here only once. In your first week of treatment."

  
"I did?" I frowned, tilting my head but remembering nothing of the small cottage in the trees.

  
"I'm not surprised that you cannot remember. We had to sedate you when the lights shut out on your first night up on the ward. They shut off 'like a falling shell,' I think you called it between the screams. The boys weren't too keen on you staying the night with the noise, so we brought you down here, sedated you and let you sleep. You were down here and in and out of consciousness for two days or more."

  
"Is that why I-I have m-m-my own room?"

  
"Partially, yes. You're also not receiving electro-shock therapy, so you're not being exposed to it." I nodded in understanding as Fassbender made his way up to the cottage door, and knocked softly.

  
A moment later and a figure in a long, checkered dressing-gown opened the door. Hiddleston looked up and smiled at me. I couldn't do anything but stare back at him. He was not disfigured, barely changed by the war, aside from a long, thin scar which started by his temple and took the length of his face, and a deep, red welt on the side of his other eye. Coughing, I looked away, hoping that he hadn't seen me stare. A moment later, he inclined his head and smiled again, more hesitantly.

"Thought you might get a bit of a shock. Scalpel and an unhappy patient. Tried to take on a brute who couldn't tell the difference between my girl and a German soldier. No lasting damage except a scar that the old girl thinks is dashing. Come in, come in." He winked and stepped aside to let us in, and for a moment I simply stood, taking in his expression once again. He winked, once more, a little lopsided, but he was otherwise entirely unchanged. Big eyes, thin lips, curly hair. The man was settled after the war.

  
"Y-you look g-good, Thomas," I smiled at him and for a moment he looked as though he might embrace me. I tensed and nodded my head, and in response, he gripped my forearm as we shook hands.

  
"You look much better for a few hearty meals! Kitty would surely be pleased." Another wink - had the man developed a nervous tic? - and nudged me lightly with his knuckles.

"I certainly hope so." I grinned at him and followed him through the house as he took us to the living room.

  
"Make yourself comfortable. The old girl will be in in a few minutes, with some tea." He settled in the armchair and grinned at us, "she's been dead keen on doing it all, even though I kept telling her that in her state it was better not to worry. Poor girl."

"State?" Fassbender sat forward.

  
"Oh, I didn't mention, did I? She's three months gone! We're going to be having a little one!" My jaw dropped and my heart dropped too.

  
"C-c-congratulations." Though I couldn't meet his eyes.

  
"Thank you. She certainly is a beauty. All rounding out and lovely." His face took on a faraway look and he smiled slowly. I couldn't help but smile back, even though I wanted to vomit. My chance was gone, but the man was in love. Desperately in love.

  
Quietly, I adjusted myself in the chair I had settled in, glancing around the room. It looked desperately familiar, and, as I moved my head to take it in from a different angle, I shot up in my chair.

  
"This room, I recognise it. Is it-"

  
"The same layout as his damned field quarters! I know!"

  
That was not the soft voice I knew. The accent was entirely different, broader, from further North. It was an accent I had become familiar with, but it was an accent which had greeted me more often in the trenches than it had in the field hospital. I turned to see a slim woman, straight blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail, and a slightly rounded belly, wearing a pair of men's pyjamas.

  
"Oh, darling." Hiddleston rose from his chair and kissed her chastely, taking the tray from her fingers and settling it on the table.

  
This was not my angel nurse. Not my girl. "Heather, my love. You remember Private Cumberbatch?"

  
"It's C-C-Captain, now," I preened slightly, grinning at her, though my heart was rapidly sinking to my toes. Where was she? This wasn't her, was it? "But I'm s-still who I was!"

  
"Oh! How could I forget poor Kitty's bandage boy?"

  
"Bandage b-b-boy?" I frowned slightly, lost to the reference. "I-I don't u-understand."

  
"You were last seen folding bandages," she pointed at me accusingly, "you left her heartbroken on the fields of bloomin' Ypres!" Her cheeks were slowly taking on a darkened flush and I watched her brow knot darkly, "you took off without even a note!"

  
"I didn't r-realise you were my m-mother!" I tried to laugh it off, but there was now a very real feeling of dread that had settled into the pit of my stomach. I swallowed nervously and blinked up at her, seeing Fassbender making notes from the corner of my eye.

  
"I'm not, but I'm sure if I told her how you left the poor girl, she would give you a good row."

  
"How do you mean?" Fassbender spoke before I could.

  
"Letters! She sent you letters once a week, asked you how you were, never heard a bloody word!" Hiddleston raised his hand to try to calm her, and she briefly turned her gaze upon him. I was, for a moment, most glad that she had surrendered the tea tray to her husband. It was becoming more and more apparent that had she had access to a weapon, she might have thumped me. As it was, she didn't need a mace to wound me. "She thought you were dead. She still does."

  
"I-I-I never g-got such letters!" I cried out, "wh-wh-what did they say?"

  
"How in the world am I supposed to know?!" Her face went pink and she scowled, "they were private letters to the daft beggar she was in love with!"

  
Her lips parted, her fingers trembling as she clapped her hands over her mouth.  
"Darling, sit down. You'll do the baby no favours, come along."

  
"I am fine!" She thundered, turning on him. "You're as much to blame, you useless beggar, encouraging her by telling her you'd keep checking the rosters!"  
"I wanted her to know what had happened," it seemed as though they had had this argument more than once, as now, Thomas dropped his voice in an attempt to calm her, "we all wanted to know."

  
"I... I'm sorry," I looked between them, "r-r-really I had n-n-no idea that I would be s-s-so m-missed."

  
"You didn't think Kitty would want to know that you were alive?"

  
"I d-d-didn't... I wasn't e-entirely sure that I m-mattered." I looked up at them all, flushed red. From the sternness of Heather, Hiddleston's VAD woman, cheeks glowing in both indignation and her pregnancy, to Thomas, with his eyes so sincere and concerned, to settle my star on Fassbender, who sat forward with an expression I knew so well. He was itching to scrawl the results of this conversation upon a page and likely enter me into some kind of side show.

  
Flushing redder, I looked away, worrying at my bottom lip with my teeth. I felt like a child.

  
"You never thought you mattered?" Thomas, incredulous, spoke softly as I looked back and stared him in the eyes, "dear boy."

  
"I am n-no boy." Though I felt like one. Unassailably, I felt like a child.

  
"Then, dear Benedict." He sighed. "Should you like to read it, I have her last letter to you. I think, it might provide some understanding of her feelings for you. Of your meaning to her."

  
Did I want to? Did I dare read the final words of a scared young woman who was signing away the words in her heart to a man she thought was dead?

  
The envelope, addressed to my division on the front line, was in my hand before I even remembered asking for it.

  
"Does she know you didn't send it?"

  
"She took copies of them, kept them in her diary for every eventuality. If it ever came to light that it was lost she would have the means to try again." He paused, "she had long since assumed they were not going to reach you."

  
I took a deep breath, turning the envelope over and over as I sighed. There was no going back. Her handwriting, small and cramped on the envelope, was familiar and calming to me. I swallowed nervously and slipped my thumb under the seal, unfolded it, and began to read.


	5. Chapter 5

**Benedict**

 

_Darling,_

_I find it strange that I should call you darling. I barely got to tell you the way that I felt when we were stood before one another, but now that we are so far apart it seems a shame to mince words._

_I wish you were my darling. You, charming young soldier, were the first man to see through who I had to be, into the woman who wanted to help, and could not._

_You, who are lost at the Front. You who are... Who I wish was mine. You spent your time finding me, and I wanted nothing but to help you in return._

_Thomas tells me I should return to addressing you as Private. He says there is a dreamy familiarity to my letters which will never come to fruition. He says I am daydreaming. He says I will be nothing but disappointed. Yet he tells me he will keep looking for you. Checking the rosters and delivering my letters. He has the temperament of an eight year old. From time to time. It bemuses me._

_I write this as the last in a long line of unanswered missives. You are, though I hate to say it, not coming back, are you? My brave young man in Flanders (not mine. Not young, you would say, but so, so very brave)... Not coming home._

_I have treasured your last wave for a lifetime now. The shape of your silhouette in the evening sunset as I hurried away. Oh! How I wish I had taken the time to exchange some words with you. To tell you how much I valued you, how I fear I cared. To tell you that the angels would look after you no matter what._

_But they have not. They have not spent their time protecting you. As I asked and prayed for. And so I must begin to say goodbye. There is little more to say than... Than thank you, for your kindness, your smiles. Than goodbye._

_Thomas says I am a fool to sob. So I will not, until we meet again._

_Yours,_

_Kitty_

 

I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. I had never felt so sick in my life, so empty as I read and reread the words. She had... She had said goodbye to me, in this letter. There was a sense of finality in her words that left me hollow and shaking as I folded it up again and slipped the missive into my pocket.

"Well." I took a breath after a few minutes looking up to see the three of them staring at me. "She... I d-d-didn't expect th-this."

"She said you wouldn't. She thought you would not be... Expecting it."

"S-so it was s-s-supposed to be a n-nice surprise?" I swallowed silently and ran my fingers along my cheeks once again. The day had hardly begun and yet my senses were sharp enough to feel the bite and drag of more than an hour’s growth of stubble. I felt as though I was surfacing from the deafness of a shell blast, colours sharpening from grey and coming back to reality.

"She said you deserved to know. That you needed a reason to come back. And she knew she was selfish. She said it often enough, knew you had better things to do than consider her feelings."

"I had b-barely considered m-m-my own." I rubbed my eyes again, "She was d-d-determined that I kn-n-new?"

"Yes." Thomas settled his hands in his lap, staring back at me as I watched him. For the longest of moments, we were part of a staring contest not far from the stalemate I had seen in the trenches. A second later and I tore my eyes away, swallowing as I looked to the floor. "Her letters never made it to the front? Not at all?"

"I n-n-n-never got anything. N-n-nothing whats-s-soever." My throat was dry and my words, a struggle as they were, came hoarsely.

"Not at all." Thomas looked up at Heather and rubbed his hand up her arm gently, "Certainly abnormal."

They looked between each other, making silent conversation in their touches. Her eyes hardened after a few seconds and she turned away, going to procure some breakfast for us all. I withdrew into myself after a moment of observing them, listening to the sound of my heart churning in my chest, twisting and turning in the midst of the rest of my organs. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to ask Hiddleston a question, as he moved out of his seat and moved toward the kitchen. 

-

 

**Thomas**

 

"Darling," I whispered softly, "you mustn't be too hard on the man. He's still in recovery," I rested my hand on heathers shoulder and gently squeezed, watching her blink away her frustrated tears and wipe at her eyes. 

"But she was devastated, Tom. You didn't... You never got to look after her. You never saw her past lights out. The bloody fool got her letters and ignored them and now he's back and got nobody to hold his hand he wants someone there."

"The man is psychologically distorted, Heather." I knew she was only hurting for her friend, who, since she had made the assumption that the man In our living room was dead, had slowly drawn herself away from the pair of us. It hit my wife the hardest, her letters returning with short answers about her lack of time, how she regrets that she hasn't come to our door to stay, but that her life has been so hectic since her return from the front. 

"So is the woman!" She thumped her fist against the kitchen counter, sending the sugar spoon rattling against the bowl. I jumped, quickly taking her hand in my own and unknotting her fingers. "I understand that you were prepared for every eventuality, my love, but us girls weren't exactly... We weren't exposed to that kind of horror until our first day in Ypres. She found a little bit of calm within the hurricane, Thomas. Just like I did." Briefly, she rested her hand against my cheek and smiled kindly, "but her man got torn away from her like confetti in the wind." I smiled then, my poetic darling speaking her mind in the politest of ways, "I can't imagine what she's gone through, grieving for a man who barely acknowledged her after they were parted."

I nodded, knowing it was likely best not to argue with the girl when she had this cant on her words. She was frowning, scowling, and it was all I could do not to reach out and smooth the sadness from her brow. Gently, I stroked my fingers across hers and offered her a small smile. She did not return it, too lost in the sad fortunes of the woman who had been her best friend. 

"I'm going to call her up. Give her some kind of clue that the man is alive. She'll come to us, then, Thomas. She'll have to come and see us, and see him, and give him what for."

"Heather, heather, no." I pressed my palm firmly around her hand and held on. She would not look at me, and I knew she would do as she wished even with my knowledge and advice. Her hand trembled in mine and she drew away without hesitation, looking away and rubbing her hand over the soft bump of her belly.

"I must, darling." She looked to me and smiled sadly, "there really is no other option. He needs to hear her perspective, and he needs to know that what was in that letter was no lie."

It was a new argument, one that I expected to blaze into a row more and more often now that we were unassailably part of Benedict's treatment, but as we stood, facing each other in the kitchen, I had never felt more in love with my wife. She was a loyal, caring woman, who hated to see those she loved struggle to find their way. Before the war, she had lived in the north, caring for and breeding dogs on the farm her father owned. Their loyalty was, I knew, second to hers. I had never known anyone to understand and defend their friends in the way that she would - until her lips were frayed and bleeding, and I was enamoured with the way that she did it. The heart with which she lived was astounding. 

Slowly, I ran my hand through my hair and looked to her again, still holding her hand in mine.  
"My love, surely you understan-"

"I understand well enough that his treatment is dependent on closure and the understanding of his emotional state, Thomas." She barked the words sharply and I cringed at the intensity of her voice. I hated to disappoint her, to make her think that I was patronising her. Many of the VAD women had been more intelligent than I think we had given them credit for, and my wife was no different. She did not suffer my slights on her cleverness gladly, and I was sure that this would make her turn from me this evening, give me the coldest of shoulders. My stomach clenched at the thought and I bowed my head, "but you must understand, it is my duty to my friends as well as to the casualties of the war. If he is looking for closure - for an understanding of a broken heart and a broken mind, then perhaps I can direct your thoughts to the woman who spent so much time mourning the young man she cared for when he..." She looked away, lost to her own memories. I took a breath and shut my eyes, took a moment thinking back to the field hospital. My fingers tensed as she took them into a tighter grip and a deep breath later, she was sobbing softly against my side.

"It appears we are all to cry today," I smiled kindly at her, kissing her temple gently and running my finger along the curve of her spine. "I am a sorry man, my love." 

"You are a fool." She said simply, wiping at her eyes and looking at the food at the table. "Breakfast is ready. We ought to eat before it gets cold." Without another word to me she took the breakfast things into the living room, ignoring Benedict and smiling politely at Dr Fassbender as we sat together and ate.

-

After the plates had been cleared and the good doctor and young Captain had left to do… whatever it was they spent their mornings getting involved with, I busied myself with helping heather to organise and co-ordinate the washing of the plates. She spoke very little to me, keeping her eyes fixed rather on the plates in her hand than the husband stood beside her, and I didn’t dare  question her motives, worried that instead I would offend her, and she would, once more, intensify her cold-shoulder antics so that I was entirely frozen out of our conversation.

“Darling,” I started after a few minutes, trying not to look too keen as she turned her face to look at me, “What do you think of Dr. Fassbender’s idea?”

“What? To wait for him to contact her? Certainly not, Thomas.” She took my hand in her own and let her fingertips encircle my wrist. “Can you imagine, my love? If I had been in her place? And you had been hiding in a godforsaken hospital just outside of the city in which I lived? The moment I found out that you were alive, I would have been shrieking at you to demand a reason as to why you hadn’t told me before. It would break my heart and I would consider never speaking to you again.” She looked away, “I understand that he may not be able to speak to her yet. That there are things left unsaid which he is physically unable to… to verbalise, but he knows how she feels. He knows she has waited for him. At this point, he holds an advantage which is not his to possess, Thomas.” She watched me for a moment, inspecting my expression and letting her lips soften into a small smile as she liked what she saw. Her lips curved wider as she leaned into me, slipping her arms around my waist as she settled the plate down on the counter and tiptoed to kiss me gently, her fingers sliding gently against the soft fabric of my dressing gown and gripping tightly against the material. With a soft sigh, she looked up into my eyes and I felt the electricity which coursed between us ignite into something more visceral, more physical. More needy.

Before I knew it, her hands were in my hair and I was clinging onto her body, fingers twisting and turning ever so slightly in her soft hair, my other hand dragging along the soft skin of her bump as she backed herself against the table.

“We can’t, my love,” I managed to breathe, feeling as though I were standing underwater and trying to breathe through a heavy tube, “I would love to return you to bed but I must be getting to work… and the baby…”

“My darling, you are a fool.” She smiled slowly and kissed me at the corner of my mouth. “I shall be ready and waiting by the time you get back. I shall be… ready. And waiting.”

_I had never dashed from the house in such a state before._

-

When I returned, tired and aching from a day spent with my hands in the guts of a man who had been complaining of abdominal pain and who had shrapnel  grating his intestines like cheese, I was unsurprised to see the house lights dimmed to spots of candles in the windows, and frowned as I unlocked the door.

“Darling?” I called it softly, aware that she might be asleep. The pregnancy had taken its toll on her and she had taken to napping in the hours before we fell asleep together. I rubbed my palms together, intent on surprising her with a barrage of kisses as she slept. Instead, I felt a pair of arms curve around my waist and a gentle kiss pressed against my jaw. Her hands slowly shifted to unbutton my braces and I couldn’t help but turn to aid her, grinning broadly as her fingers shook.

“Hello, darling.” She smiled at me, turning her face up for a kiss. I pecked her lips gently and pulled away, with the intent to look at her for a moment as she slowly dropped the silken robe I had bought her for her birthday. She would not meet my eyes, however, and I felt the suspicion rise in my stomach. “Have you had a good day?” Her eyes fixed on my collar and she reached out slowly, sensuously, to drag the buttons apart, smiling broadly.

“Have _you?_ ” She caught my tone and tensed, blushing slightly. “Darling?”

“I have. Had a lovely phone call.”

“From?” My fingers slipped from her shoulders and watched the robe go with it. “Darling, who did you call?”

“N-Nobody. I received the call, silly.” She reached up to unbutton my shirt further and she grinned up at me. That grin was the smile of a very bad girl, and I knew I would be unable to respond in the way she wanted me to until she had laid bare the truth.

“Darling.” I dropped my voice and frowned slightly. Her face dropped and she took a shaky breath, “Who did you speak to on the phone?”

There was silence for the longest time, and I had, by the time she murmured a pair of syllables with a small breath and a little whimper, formed my own, correct conclusion.

“Kitty.” Her eyes dropped and she stared into the space between my shirt and my clavicle. After a moment, she took a deep, shuddering breath and let out a little sob. “I had to tell her.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_Ypres, June 1918 – Thomas_ **

I stared at her through the gap in the thick canvas flaps of the tent. She was curled up on her bed and her arms were wrapped around herself, quietly pulling at the soft blanket I had draped around her shoulders with the fingers that weren’t curled into her own shin.

“Kitty, sweetheart?” Heather’s voice called out from behind me, and I ducked out of the way before she could crash into me with the tray of hot tea and soft biscuits. As she passed, I felt, rather than saw her soft gaze turn upon me. “Are you coming in, Surgeon Hiddleston?”

“No, but I should like a report on her state if you have the time in a little bit?” She smirked and ran her finger along my bicep. If I gripped the canvas a little tighter, then so be it, but I would never admit it to another soul. She smirked and nodded.

“Of course, Doctor.” Without another word, she slipped into the tent and I heard her cooing over Kitty. The poor girl was so visibly shaken by the Casualty Clearing Station, a little further up the line, that she had demanded to come back immediately. There had been a mix-up between the names on the roster, and at four in the morning the poor girl had been dragged into a fast-paced, high-risk job which she was hardly qualified for. The blown off, untreated limbs and head wounds which she was greeted with had made her retch, and the sharpness with which she had been reprimanded prior to her superiors being informed that she was only VAD was a cruel awakening to the dangers of the Front Line, and though they had allowed her to return home, she was shaken and cruelly unable to wipe her mind of the horrendous images that had greeted her. In her mind, at least from what I understood between her tears, she associated them with Private Cumberbatch, reminded of his youth, his fears and his gentle face as he cried out for his Captain.

Thirty minutes after I had spoken to her, Heather rapped on the door to the surgeons’ quarters and made her way into my billet. Her fingers toyed at the bow on her apron and I reached out.

“May I assist you? I’m told my fingers are rather adept with ties, knots and sutures.”

“Why sir, was that an attempt to assist me in the removal of my clothes?”

“I think, my dear, that it absolutely was. Aren’t I utterly reproachable?” She smirked, and quietly pulled the door closed. I stared at her, unable to quite believe I had stolen her heart among the mud, guts and blood which littered the war. She smiled demurely and reached out to me again, my fingers sliding around her waist and untying her apron with only the soft rush of falling fabric as a soundtrack to our movements.

“Dreadful.” She smiled and turned her face up for a kiss. “I love you.”

“No you don’t,” I chuckled, “You love one of the other surgeons. You’ve just come in here by accident.” She smiled more and pushed at my chest gently, shaking her head as she turned to make herself a cup of tea from the small pot on the fire. My hand drew up the length of her thigh, and ever so slightly, I felt her shift back, press into my palm.

“I missed you today.” She turned to me, holding the kettle in one hand and moving her hip toward mine once more. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” I nodded, “But we had to help her.”

“You’re not helping by sending those letters, you know. For all we know, he’s dead.”

“I don’t care. It helps her.”

“Then you are a philanthropist.” With a gentle roll of her eyes, she hitched her skirt up and came to stand straddling my knees. “I’m quite sure you only do it to get into my good books, sir.”

“Quite possible,” I let my lips quirk ever so slightly and bowed my head when she smacked at my bicep, “Damn, woman. You pack a wallop.”

“I’d pack a mighty sight more if I didn’t know you were joking.”

“Good thing I am, then,” I winked at her, and planted my feet on the floor, allowing Heather to sit comfortably on my lap, “Is she sleeping? She won’t wake? Do I have you to myself for the evening?”

“Not in the slightest. I believe she has quite exhausted herself, her eyes were half-shut when I helped her settle down.”

“I’ll speak to the Sister, get her a day off.” She grinned and nodded, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to my cheek, my nose, my lips.

“Dreadfully kind of you.”

“Why thank you. I do try to be a good man to my friends.”

“And a better man to your lovers, I hope.”

I chuckled softly and nodded, slipping my arms about her hips and slowly easing open the buttons at the back of her dress. Her back arched under my hand and she moaned out a little, staring up at me.

“I-” She leaned down, capturing my lips under hers as I kissed her slow and deep. I pulled at the front of her dress, and slowly revealed to me was a soft, beautiful expanse of pale skin, lightly freckled, with pert breasts free and waiting for congress with my fingers. I moaned softly, dragging my fingers down her hips until I could free her from the stifling, itchy confines of her uniform, and chase her to the small bed in the corner of the room.

-

**_ London – July 1919 – Kitty _ **

My head was swimming.

I had been informed that there was a telephone call for me, and so I had hurried down the stairs to collect it before whoever was on the line had found their way to a more interesting venture. It was rather early, and I was not expected to be at work for another hour. Briefly, I wondered whether the call was a courtesy one, informing me that there had been another set of leaky pipes which meant that the building would be closed, _once again_.

“Hello, Kitty McCullough speaking.”

“Kitty, darlin’!” Heather’s voice echoed through the headset and I winced. I loved the woman dearly, but I had made it quite clear that I needed my time and my space to think about thinks after the passing of Private Cumberbatch in combat. As much as I had adored the man, there was a large part of me which was convinced that he had chosen to ignore my missives, instead favouring a young woman from his home town, or, simply, someone other than I.

At first, it had been difficult to read them over, but the longer I spent staring into the black ink and willing the words to shift, with some kind of magic, into a reply, the more I was able to remove myself from the complexity of emotion which followed. Slowly, I returned to working with my previous employer. As unfulfilling as being a typist was, it was reassuring that I would never have to deal with a bloody gash to the chest, an open-air amputation or a reluctant patient again. When I returned to work, there had been no thank-yous from the men around me. I had become a part of the wallpaper once again, and for that, I was temporarily thankful. I had not wanted to become a war widow, and yet I could not bear to think that Benedict’s death would go unmourned.

“Hello, Heather!” I brought a smile into my voice and waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, I found myself speaking once again. It was likely the longest combination of sentences I had said to her since we had parted. “How are you doing? How is the baby? Have you settled into the hospital well? Are there any interesting patients?” I knew she would know what I was asking – _was there anyone we had treated –_ but found myself asking anyway. After the barrage of questions quieted, and I had settled down, I heard her taking a deep breath. “Are you alright, Heather?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” A pause in which she let out a noise which mist certainly did not sound fine, “I just… I have some news and I think it might be difficult for you to take and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

“All… all right,” I nodded, “Should I be sitting down? Is it something terrible?”

“It’s not terrible, darlin’. Just… it’ll come as a surprise to you.”

“Nothing surprises me anymore, Heather. That Clearing Station took all of the surprise out of me.”

“This… this might.” Another deep breath, a dramatic pause like I was listening to a radio play, “He’s alive.”

“What?”

“He’s alive, darlin’.”

“Who?”

“Benedict.”

_I should have been sitting down._ I felt my knees go weak and gripped the bannister for support, cringing slightly as I did so. What did she mean, he was alive? Did he have my letters? Was he all right? Was he healthy? Did he need…

“What?!” I cried out, leaning against the bannister and feeling my back slide down the floor. “H-He’s… where?!” The words weren’t coming out in exactly the way I wanted them to come, but the sentiment was there. I needed to know. This was the man I had mourned for months, the man whose voice still kept me awake at night, who I had freely admitted I had fallen for, and heard nothing in response. My chest tightened, _why had he not called me himself?_ “He doesn’t want to know me, does he?”

“My darling girl,” I looked up and my father was stood over me, “Are you quite well?”

“They found him, papa.” I smiled slightly, taking a shaky breath, “He’s alive.” Before he could speak, I drew the earpiece closer to my ear once more and closed my eyes. “He doesn’t want to, does he?”

“Oh darlin’!” Heather’s voice was soft, “He’s in therapy. He’s got a major stammer and still has trouble sleeping, according to the doctor that’s treating him.” There was a pause, “He’s not ready to see you yet, but he spends an awfully long time talking about you, my darling.”

I could feel my hands shaking. My lips were trembling and my chest was pounding. My father reached out for my elbow, gently taking it in his hand to help me up and as I looked into his eyes, I saw an expression of shock which could have only been born by the sudden draining of all colour from my own face. I swallowed and tried to calm myself down.

“So… he remembers me?”

“As few do. Fassbender – that’s his doctor, lovely chap, Irish – says that he’s spent hours asking around, to no avail. You’re the ghost in the trenches,” A light chuckle, “Benedict calls you the Angel Nurse. Thought you were sent down from heaven just for him.”

“The boy was a strange one.” I felt the iron grasp around my heart loosen and stood a little straighter, “But he was my strange one.”

“Now, now, Kitty.” Heather chuckled, “He’s still recovering.” She laughed softly again and I pulled at my hair, desperate to get on a train, my heart lighter, “He’s nobody’s yet.”

“He’ll remember me, won’t he? When he sees me?”

“Of course, Kitty.” And my chest relaxed fully. I could breathe again. “You’ll let me know how he is? When he wants to speak with me?”

“Of course, you daft little thing.” She chuckled, and I could hear her fingers drumming against the mouthpiece. “I will tell you the moment you’re asked for.” She hesitated, and I knew exactly the words that would come from her mouth as I stood and waited for her to speak. She had asked with every conversation we had had since she had married Thomas. “We’re always happy to have you come to stay with us, if you should enjoy that?”

I thought, for a moment longer than usual, and Heather sensed my hesitation, pouncing upon it without prejudice.

“We could show you around the grounds. Thomas has found a beautiful lake at the north end, we could picnic and catch up. Benedict might… He might feel well enough to join us, if you wanted to come at the end of the month?”

My breath hitched. Yes.

“Yes. Yes that would be lovely. I am due some respite from work, and I am sure I would adore the lake…” I deliberately avoided the subject of Benedict, but I could hear the teasing in her voice when she replied.

“Of course! The lake will be the finest sight you see.”

I chuckled, and quietly, we made arrangements for the end of the month.

\----

 

Three weeks later and I was stood at the large gate to the hospital, a letter of invitation gripped in my fist as though my life depended on it. Speaking kindly to the guard, I stood at the outpost and waited for someone to show me where I needed to go.

After a few minutes of silence, the telephone in the guard’s box rang, and with a few moments of terse conversation, he nodded and hung up, returning to me with a sour face on.

“Is there a problem?”

“Nobody to show you up to the cottage, miss.” He said softly, looking dreadfully apologetic, “You’ll have to walk it. It’s not far but we like the ladies to have escorts usually.” Frowning slightly, he gave me the directions and shook my hand. “Have a nice stay. They’re a lovely couple.”

“You make it sound like a hotel,” I chuckled and took my bag, walking on up the side path that the guard had pointed out.

As I made my way along the beautiful path, serenity filled me and I felt myself sway gently as the breeze rustled through the trees. My mind shifted back to France, to Belgium, the thought of the woods and of the men marching through them, watching them as they took their first proud _stupid_ steps back toward the front lines.

Within a few minutes, I was stood at the front lines myself, staring up at the small thatched cottage which housed two of my kindest friends. I had not seen them in months, and they were about to welcome me into their home.

I was in a panic, and all I wanted to do was run, but taking a deep, shuddering breath, I closed the gap between myself and the door, raising my fist and knocking.

There was nothing but silence for the longest time, and after a few moments, I knocked again, wondering now whether they had forgotten that I was due to arrive. Still silence greeted me, and then, a soft hand on my shoulder and a deep voice that I could never, ever forget, startled me from behind.

“Kitty?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited because I wanted to take a different direction, changed my mind and then changed it back. Let me know what you think?
> 
> And please... trust me on this one.

**_ Kitty _ **

I turned, my face breaking out into a huge smile as I dropped my bags and ran at Thomas for a hug. He looked a little worse for wear, out of breath from running, cheeks pink and hair a little awry, but here was one of my best friends, a part of my family, and I was damned if I was going to let a bit of him panting get in my way.

“Kitty, darling!” as I practically threw myself into his arms and he staggered under the sudden attachment of my weight, he laughed and I could have cried. “I was looking for you! When they gave a call up from the gate-station, I volunteered to find you straight away.”

“I nearly made it to the house anyway, brother,” I smiled at him, resting my hand against his shoulder, “I’ve been away too long.”

“Hey, I made it thirty years without even knowing I had a sister,” With an affectionate kiss to my forehead, Thomas pulled away, lifting my bag from the floor and grinned as he led me toward the house, “A few months here and there are a burden I’m willing to bear.”

 

**_ August 1916 _ **

“Kitty, we need you in the operation tent, darling,” Tom pressed his hand to my shoulder as I looked up and he smiled at me, “You’ve been crying. Do I need to get someone for you? Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” I sighed and lifted the picture in my hands sadly, “My mother died today. Well, a few years ago, today, actually, and it still gets me down a little, you know?” sighing once again, I set the picture back on my nightstand and quietly stood, “what’s the patient’s problem?”

But there was silence from Thomas, as he stood beside me, staring in horror at the photo on my tiny nightstand.

“Now, you’re sure that’s your mother, Kitty?” He said after a few seconds, frowning slightly as he looked between me and the picture.

“More than,” I nodded. “This is from a while ago, but father gave it to me before I left. It’s my mother.”

“And mine.”

I froze in place, looking up into Thomas’ incredulous face.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s my mother. Marie.”

“ _My_ mother, Marie, Doctor Hiddleston.”

“Who came from Kent.” He said, deadly soft, “Right? Born in Kent, came from there?” Now it was my turn to stand and stare, looking at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. “Stay right here, I’ll be back. I’ll give Collins and Warren the operation. I need to talk to you.”

I remained, stock still for the twenty minutes that it took him to go and return, hands shaking, unable to tear my eyes from the image in the picture. That my mother… that we were…

“Here.” And he pressed an image into my hand. An identical image. _My mother._ She was his mother. We were… “Her name was Marie Conway, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” I nodded, reaching out for the picture, held them next to each other and looked up to him, “How?”

“I don’t know. Apparently, she left me on my father’s doorstep. I was told she was a horror.” He chuckled softly, reaching out for the picture, gently gripping my wrist with nothing further than affection as he looked down at me, “I see now she was saving all the good bits for her daughter.”

“She was a good mother, Thomas. Always kind to me.” He nodded quietly, lifted his hand and took the photographs from mine, “But she hurt you? By leaving?”

“I never knew her,” He shrugged, “I couldn’t be hurt by a woman I hardly knew.” He lifted his hand from the photographs and sighed, “Could…” And now he looked hesitant, “Could I take your father’s address?”

“Why?” I frowned, still a little dazed at the thought of having a brother.

“I want to know if it’s true. If she is… if we are related.”

 

**_ 1919 – Thomas _ **

****

I lifted Kitty’s bags through the door – only small, but more than enough for the week that she was staying with us – and called out to Heather. She was quiet, so I assumed that she had gone for her afternoon nap, as was regular. Trying to keep the noise down, I slipped my boots off, showing Kitty to her bedroom and happily bringing her to the kitchen for a cup of tea and some lunch. It was past lunchtime, and the poor dear’s stomach had been grumbling since I had set her to her feet.

“You really ought to eat more, darling.” I chuckled, setting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. She rolled her eyes at me and shook her head, though the moment the plate had settled she was quietly stuffing her face with forkful after forkful. I sat down opposite her and settled with my mug of tea, watching her. “Did you speak to your father? Did he get my letters?”

Though she rolled her eyes at me, gesturing to her plate and her pouched cheeks, miming her inability to speak, she nodded, and after a prolonged pause, swallowed her eggs, looking at me with a smile.

“There are papers and letters in my case.” I tried not to look so excited, but her expression reflected the smile upon my face. “It took him a long while, but he found all that he could. He wants to meet you, once you and Heather are settled.”

“I should like that. Hopefully we shall be more than settled soon.” She chuckled brightly and patted my shoulder, digging back into her eggs.

“Have you told Heather?” She asked quietly, looking up at me in her next break from eating. I shook my head mutely, biting my lip.

“Told me what?” I nearly shot from my chair, having not expected my wife to be stood in the doorway.

“Well, I… that is, we have something to tell you. We ought to have told you when we first found out, but neither of us were very sure, and we didn’t want to surprise you at all.” I blushed, hearing the words spilling from my lips and realising exactly how terrible they were likely to sound, as I stood and held out my hand to her. “You might want to sit down.”

“I’ll get the pictures from my case, Thomas,” Kitty said, rising from her chair and quickly darting to her room, “Tell her, Thomas!”

“Well, that is to say…” I blushed again, looking up at Heather, who seemed to be scowling back at me, “It’s nothing bad, darling. Sit down, it’s all rather exciting, really!”

“Thomas!” She said sharply, and I was reminded briefly of the rage and hurt that she had directed at Benedict all those weeks ago. “Tell me, love.” I smiled back at her, my fingers twitching as Kitty returned to the room and passed me the photograph paper.

“This is my mother.” I said softly, holding out the first picture, letting Heather take a good look, “And this is Kitty’s mother.” Quietly, Kitty held out the photograph in her hand, “Kitty is my sister, Heather.”

The look of shock on her face could have felled Rome. Her eyes went wide and in moments, her mouth had dropped slack, colour rising in her cheeks as she lifted her eyes between us.

“You are… My Lord!” Her hands clapped together in front of her chest and she gasped, looking between us more frantically, “The baby shall have an auntie! A true auntie!” A giggle, and she looked to Kitty, mock-anger written upon her face, “You, miss, how dare you not tell me? How dare _he_ not tell me?”

“We were not sure… as to whether it was true, or a coincidence… or what!” Kitty grinned, “But… my father told me, he had found the pictures, her birth certificate, everything! It’s all in my case upstairs.”

In moments, heather was on her feet, reaching for us both and pulling us into an embrace which we gladly returned. I had known Kitty as my friend, and now she was also a relation. It was a new, exciting prospect, to have a family expanding so rapidly, and as I watched, and she pulled away, busying herself finishing her eggs and blushing at the attention that Heather was giving her, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that perhaps, in time, Benedict would provide her the same.


	8. Chapter 8

_ **Benedict - 1919** _

 

I woke early that morning, to the sounds of the gardeners trimming the lawns and talking loudly amongst themselves. There was already bright sunshine streaming through the window and the smell of freshly cut grass permeated the air, leaving me with a light heart, and the sensation that things were truly starting to change.

As it was early, I stretched, and called for a nurse to assist me with filling a bath. Minutes later, I sank into the tepid water and felt my muscles cool down along with it. It had been a long, warm night, and I could feel the grime and sweat seeping from my body as I washed. It was early, and I took the movements lazily, feeling that my time was best spent ensuring that I could go a multitude of days without needing to soak again. My time was interrupted, however, by the gentle rapping at the door. I stiffened, sitting to cover myself as best as I could.

“Come in.”

“Benedict!” Fassbender was bounding into the room like a puppy loosened from his lead. I stared for a moment, bemused at his exuberance, before nodding at him and reaching for a towel. I made to get out, the warm air a welcome sensation against my skin as I began to stand, but Fassbender held out his hands, lightly shaking his head. “Stay where you are, I only have a message. I came myself because I wanted to make sure you had it completely right.”

“Oh?” I cocked my head, watching the expression on his face. He simply grinned wider and nodded.

“Thomas said that she’s settled in with them, and she’s very excited to see the lake.” He smiled at me, wider this time, and I frowned once more. “The trio will be there this afternoon for a picnic, and Thomas… would like you to join them.” He patted my shoulder, seemingly unaware that I was slick with soap and water, and then glared down at his hand as though it had done him a personal affront. I chuckled and nodded at him.

“Thank you. Could you telephone and let them know that I will endeavour to be there? I shall meet them at whatever time they call for me. Once again, fassbender nodded, and for a moment, I watched dumbly as he moved from the room, looking positively alight with glee. I couldn’t help but stare, really, the man astounded me. It was barely nine in the morning and the man had an explosive volume of energy, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since Ypres.

When I was finally prepared and ready to meet my fate, I stood and studied myself in the looking glass which stood in the foyer of the building. I looked tired, but I looked well, and, as I drew myself up to my full height, I smiled. I would do.

It was hot from the moment that I stepped out into the light of day. The air was still, though as I looked out upon the trees that lined the driveway, there was a soft rustle to their leaves. Fleetingly, I wondered whether perhaps the breeze would meet me as I walked along the pathway to the lake, though I didn’t hold out much hope, as the weather seemed to become stiller and more stifling as I paced my way down the gravel pathway. It was getting hard to breathe, and, as I stood at the top of the hill by the lake, searching for my girl and my friends, I took a deep breath and tried to open my lungs once more.

 

**_ June, 1915 _ **

 

“I can’t breathe” I gasped, clutching at my chest, “I can’t breathe-“

“Private!” The blow landed on my cheek and my head snapped to the right, as I stood, still gasping for air. “Snap to it,” though what _it_ was, was no longer in my head. The swirling cloud of chlorine gas which had blown through the camp only weeks ago had tightened its grip on me once again, and before a moment had passed, I was coughing and sputtering with my hands at my chest.

“Sit ‘im down! He needs to be sat down!”

“No-n-n-no no, the cloud, the cloud-“ I remembered that. I remembered the way the green gas had sunk, treading its way along the duckboards and worming itself into the dugouts, into the smallest of nooks and crannies. Everything stank of the stuff, and it had wrapped around my throat and left me vomiting for the better part of an hour. Every night, I closed my eyes, waking to the gurgling sound of a man in the darkness only to roll over and find out the man who had been choking was me. Every morning, I lifted my hand and saw the greenish tint of the residue under my nails – not there, imagined, dirt filling the spaces in reality but not in my head – and I pushed away everything but the morning tot of coffee.

The men around me were concerned enough. I knew that we had suffered losses beyond belief, and that my considerable deterioration was not helping the men around me, but I felt as though… well, quite simply, I felt unsafe. I couldn’t feel parts of me that I knew were integral to survival, and I was afraid that the longer I went on, the less I ate, the more I woke in the middle of the night, the more I would be troubling my comrades. I choked once again as I lifted my hand, tried to clutch at the lieutenant’s arm, begging him, with my hands, and eyes, to take me somewhere new. Anywhere but here.

Three hours later, and I was sat, shaking and choking, biting my lip and staring up at the beautiful woman who had just introduced herself as my nurse.

 

\---

 

**_ 1919 _ **

I tucked my flat cap under my arm, having chosen at first to wear the headgear with the hopes that it would block out at least some of the sun from my eyes. It had, unfortunately, only served to make my brow warm, and my cheeks rosy in the midsummer heat.

As I neared the trio, still sitting peaceful on the blankets, glasses of water, or wine, I was not quite sure which, at their feet, I caught the sound of laughter, and watched with intent jealousy as Thomas rested his hand on Kitty’s knee. Her lips parted in a peal of giggles, high pitched, relaxed and uncontrollable as she clutched at Thomas’ arm and tried to push him away.

“You know it ought to be fun! The water can only be cool at worst. The summer sun will have seen to its temperature.” He jostled her playfully, and another surge of fury coursed through me. His wife was right beside them! Asleep, I grant you, but she was his wife, and Thomas had his hands all over this poor young woman, who did not seem to be confused or afraid.

“I don’t like to swim, Thomas! And besides, what if somebody sees? I hardly have my bathing suit on under my clothes!”

“Then I shall fetch it for you!” He laughed again, her fingers finally prying his hand from her knee as she laughed uproariously again. It was at this point that I felt my ears beginning to burn, the fury in my chest so bright that it would rival the heat of the sun. This woman... she had declared her love to me. She had scribed letters to me, telling me of her devotion, and now...

I cleared my throat. It was the only movement that I could muster, as when I had opened my mouth to speak only moments before, the words had stuck in my throat and I had been... unable to speak a word. I feared that any recovery from my stammer would have rescinded at the moment that she chose to look at me, and so I immediately paced backward, looking away and to the floor.

“Benedict!” I saw Thomas jump to his feet, then, I assumed, turn to aid Kitty in her attempts to stand. “How are you doing, old boy?” There was a little gasp as I lifted my head, to look at them both, and I nodded at Thomas.

“Just as well as I was,” and at this point, I made the mistake of looking six inches down, locking eyes with the woman of whom I had dreamed for the past seven months, and beyond. “y-y-y-yesterday.” My lip quivered, and I stared at her, inclining my head slowly, in a gentle bow and acknowledgement. “Kitty.”

The word slipped out of my mouth as little more than a whisper. She was in front of me. She was real. She stared back, muted, as her lips parted and her eyes flickered across my face. For a moment, I watched as a flicker of something – _I didn’t know what, but I wanted to –_ settled in her eyes. They lifted slightly, her brows raising ever so slightly, and

“I hear I’m to call you Captain Cumberbatch now?” Ever so slightly, she made to move forward, looking at me with a slight smile on her face. “It seems you were busy while you were away.”


	9. Chapter 9

**_ Kitty _ **

**__ **

I looked away, my face flushed with embarrassment. Of the thousands of things that I could have done, could have said or thought or implied... I had referred to one of the darker times of his life, the time he had spent in the trenches, and told him to be proud.

I knew no man who was proud of what he’d done. I knew men who knew it to be necessary, to be for the best, but never a man who wore the death of a fellow human with pride.

“I was.” He took a breath and reached out, taking my hand gently, raising it to his lips. For the longest moment, he and I stood, frozen in that moment, unable to look away from each other as his mouth touched the back of my hand and his eyes locked with mine. I felt nothing but the way his breath huffed gently against the pale hair on my forearm, and the light buzz of intimacy that the connection our eyes held was affording me. Without a thought, I turned my hand over, touching gently the curve of his jaw, watching as his cheek twitched with the slightest smile, and his eyes lost their guard. “It has been far too long since I’ve seen you.”

My stomach lurched. _Far too long._ As though it was a choice. As though I had decided to come back after nary a word. As if I was the one who had caused such upset without even the simplest goodbye.

I felt my palm connect with his cheek before I could even begin to rationalise that I wanted to slap him. The sound echoed a little in the stillness of the afternoon, and I watched as Benedict winced and recoiled just a little.

“Wh-what was that for!?” He whined, like the youth that he was. “Kitty!” He sounded so hurt, and for the spite that wanted to rise in me, it was enough.

“You’re not dead.” I said, level and calm, “And yet you let me believe you were.” I took a breath, clutching at my own skirt, hoping that he would not see the tears which threatened to spill over my cheeks again. I should not have taken the second glass of wine that Thomas offered me, but it was for my own good. He had to know. “I hurt, Benedict. I mourned.”

“I had no idea of your feelings.” He said softly, regret in his eyes. “Since I found out that you had... dedicated so much of your precious time and your...” He blushed, “Even more precious emotion to my... my...” He took another breath, “The pursuit of my affections and the care of my wellbeing, I have thought about the thousands of things that I wish to say to you. The hundreds of ways that I wish that I could apologise, without any of them seeming to be weak, or unsatisfying to you. I want to give you every chance to take the hurt, and the pain, and the suffering I have caused you, and to turn them upon myself, for I didn’t...” He looked away, clutching at the fabric cap under his arm, “I didn’t expect that a woman such as you would feel the same connection to me as I did you. And I regret not asking your opinion on it.”

I took a breath, and looked upon him again.

His convalescence after the war had certainly changed him. No longer were his eyes wild, wide and scared, no longer was the set of his jaw too pronounced, too determined to be somebody he was not born to be. I smiled slightly, watching the corners of his mouth shake, not with fear, this time, but with quelled emotion. He took a shaky breath and dared to look back at me, eyes bright, glimmering, and rimmed with pain. I swallowed any sarcasm, any response that I would make to hurt him, and looked instead into his eyes.

“Even if you did not receive my letters, Benedict, you knew where I was. Could have written a note to me.”

“I could.” He nodded, inclining his head to his chest ever so slightly. “I did.” Another pause, “But daring send it, under a hail of gunfire and gas...” He took another breath, put his hand on his stomach and I watched again as his fingers fisted in the material. “I had no false hope to cling to. There were bodies everywhere, and if I were to become one. If I were to die, and I could not return to you...”

“Do not speak like that.” I gripped at his hand, unable to watch his internal suffering any further. My chest may have been burning with fury, with upset and with confusion, but as I lifted my other hand to touch his cheek, it dissipated. “I wanted to be the woman you lived for, Benedict.” I could hear the thickness of my voice, and knew that there was only so much that could be said before I began to weep.

“You were.” His response was barely audible. “I mean... you are.” His hand twisted into to my grip, taking mine so tightly it was almost painful. “I did not want to let you down.”

We stood, holding hands on the grass for the longest time. I was vaguely aware of Thomas speaking from my side, and somewhat aware that Benedict broke our gaze for a moment to acknowledge him, but I did not want to tear myself away to hear what he had to say.

“Perhaps we should sit down,” Benedict said softly, “I do not know about you, but I am hungry, and I should like to know...”

“We shouldn’t speak like that now.” I glanced at Thomas, who was listening, protective. He would know what I was thinking, and was no doubt ready to swoop in and pull me away from the conversation before I became too distressed. “It is a conversation to be had alone. Perhaps... we could walk together? Once we’ve eaten lunch.”

 

**_ Benedict _ **

 

With that, she released my hands and returned to her previous seat upon the blanket set upon the grass. Surprised, I settled beside her, Thomas quickly pressing a glass of wine into my hands. I sipped, delicately, my eyes upon Kitty and her now quieted demeanour. Her glances were reserved for me, and me alone, though she seemed too afraid to let her eyes linger upon me for too long.

I ate the sandwiches which were pressed into my hands, appreciating the ham and mustard which coated my tongue warmly, and the sweet dessert sponges which Heather had made herself. The food was fit for a returning soldier, and expressed the pride of a family in the coming together of the unit once more. I looked to Thomas and Heather, the former engaged with gently stroking his hand over the swell of his wife’s stomach, and then to Kitty, who had become engaged with the pattern of the blanket beneath her, her fingers tracing back and forth upon it with little or no aim.

The part of me which had surged with jealousy upon seeing Thomas and Kitty in a similar, intimate position upon my arrival now surged with rage. This woman, whom I was dedicating my affections to once more, seemed upset that she was not a part of the married couple before her. I concluded quickly that she was a fickle woman. I was not unkind, but I feared that I would need to understand their relationship before I could begin one with her. If she harboured feelings for Thomas, if they had acted upon those feelings... I had to know.

“I think it would be appropriate to take that walk, Miss.” I said, reaching out my hand once again. She nodded her agreement, and, taking her hand in mine, I aided her to her feet. No effort required, the woman before me was light as a feather and twice as amenable. Politely, I offered her my arm, which she took, and we began to take a turn about the lake.

“I am sorry,” She started after a few moments, “That I took it upon myself to slap you.” I could not help but chuckle.

“I think I can see where the idea came from. My seeming... ignorance of the letters you sent me must have hurt you dreadfully. Especially upon ascertaining that it was because I had died.” Her grip briefly tightened upon my arm and I smiled, kindly. “It was, unfortunately, the fault of the poor Ypres posting system.” She let out a low laugh this time, looking away.

“I believe there has been enough pain caused between us, though.” Her fingers tightened on my arm again, “You are... a kind man. I have seen the letters which you passed to Thomas. The ones from your time with your doctor. The ones about me.” She looked at me once more, cocking her head. “Do you feel the same way? As you did, when you wrote them?”

I nodded. There were no words to say, no words which needed to be processed. Deep down, this woman had been my reason for breaking through barbed wire, for alternately dodging bullets and firing my own. I may not have known her intimately, all of her fears and desires, but my passion for her kindness, for her friendship, for the sweet smile that she offered me when I held her hand was palpable. It made my blood burn in my ears.

“I do. You have long since been an angel, and I have...” The blush rose in my face and I felt my throat begin to tighten. “I have thought of being reunited with you endlessly.”

She smiled; slow and serene as her hand tightened around mine once more.

“Perhaps, then, it would be appropriate for you to arrange a time when we can take dinner. I am sure Thomas wouldn’t mind.”

I tensed at the thought, looking across the water at the way that he and Heather were curled up together, beneath the shade of the willow tree over the edge of the water. His head was pressed against hers, as she reclined slightly into his lap. Once more, this woman had made me furious, without seemingly having to try.

“Of course, I shall have to ask Thomas, what with the way that he was being so intimate to you earlier on. I fret that I should interrupt the time that you two can spend together, alone.”

Her head tilted once more, and she frowned, before bursting into peals of laughter so bright that I had to take a step back at the volume of the sound.

“You are not serious?” She gasped, “You think... he and I are... conducting some kind  of...” Her giggles now grated upon me. I felt stupid. “Benedict.” Her breathing slowed and she gripped my hand. “Oh darling.”

“What? I don’t... he was touching you as if...”

“Benedict. Thomas is my half-brother. We are no more intimate than you would be with a sister.” She stopped, her laughter silenced now, as she took my hands once more. “Darling boy... There is nobody else I would choose for intimacy, nobody, when I could have you.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**_ Benedict _ **

 

I gasped.

"You... You really feel that way?" I admit that I was curious about what seemed to be am intimate history between the pair of them, but I let the thought slip from my mind as she stood in front of me and took my hands.

"I do, Benedict. I have heard little from you for the past year and beyond but it has done little to diminish my affections for you. You - at least the you with whom I was acquainted previously - are kind, funny, sweet tempered. The war had never been a place for you, but," she glanced down and away, "the actions of the war brought us together. I regret the event deeply, but it sowed seeds of affection in me that I know now... You reciprocate?"

Her tone was nervous, her eyes wide and flickering slightly as her gazed tracked across my features once more. With less reluctance now, I raised my hand to gently brush against her cheek. I wanted to tell her that for the past eighteen months, even when I was curled up in the Field Surgeons' billet and there were bombs raining down only twenty miles away, my dreams had been filled with thoughts of her. My eyes saw an angel, my head saw a lover and my heart saw nothing but happiness as she took my hands in hers, curled fingers around my knuckles and pulled my fingers gently away from her face. I wanted words to come to me, to fill the still air around us as she moved closer and I found myself looking down into her eyes. She was smaller than I remembered, coming up only to my chest. Idly, my mind wandered to dancing with her, privately, arms wrapped around her with her head resting over my heart. I blinked momentarily and shook my head, the slightest movement either side.

She stared back at me and I realised that I had not yet answered her question.

"I assure that I reciprocate your feelings, Kitty. And I am aware that you have waited long enough for me to tell you so." Warily, I brought her fingers to my lips again, kissing them ever so gently as she stared at me, blue eyes big and wide, glittering in the sunshine. "I fear that I shall never be able to apologise enough for the hurt that I have caused you, darling girl, and..." At this I lost my words again, opening and closing my mouth not unlike a fish as we stood, still watching one another.

"It is enough, Benedict," she said, a friendly and warm smile upon her face, "it is enough to have you with me once more. We both have spent too many nights alone, and afraid that the other is disappointed with them. Our letters have been lost and misdirected." She reached up this time, hand pressing to my cheek in a gentle mirror of how I had held her moments ago, "but you and I are now stood together. We are in each other's arms..." Her cheeks reddened and she moved closer to me once more, so that if I wished, I could encircle her in my arms and draw her nearer. At my hesitation, she gently pressed her hand against my chest, and rose up upon her tiptoes. "I should rather like you to kiss me, Captain Cumberbatch." Her fingers toyed with the fabric of my shirt and she flushed red again.

"You would?" For a moment, I was astounded, unmoved as I bit the inside of my cheek and took a little breath, "I should like to kiss you, too." She let out a little laugh and nodded.

"I fear that if we wait much longer, we shall be interrupted."

"You should like me to do it now?"

She laughed and nodded, and my breath hitched in my chest as I looked down into her eyes. I had kissed women before, had a sweetheart when I was eighteen, though she grew tired of me and I had retained a bachelor status throughout my early twenties. The war had given me plenty of opportunity, the uniform opening the gateway to a million hearts, but I had been interested in only one. The heart of the woman in front of me, whose lips were now slightly parted, and her eyes half closed against the sunlight. For some reason, kissing Kitty felt different to those kisses I had stolen before. I leaned down, slowly, deliberately, the world moving at a pace that I knew well from the battlefield. Every movement from my peripheral vision was enhanced, moved at half speed as I focused on pressing my lips to hers.

The sensations were delectable. Her lips were soft, though within moments I had mapped the chapped space upon her lower lip, where I had seen her bite and worry at it long ago, the smoothness of the scar above the corner of her mouth, and the way that - oh - her lips seemed determined to mould against mine, my pulse throbbing in my ears, hands fisting gently in the soft cotton of the skirt at her hips... I could not hold back the soft groan which threatened to escape my lips even as she pulled away.

"Benedict?" Her voice had lessened to a purr; her blue eyes now a darkened storm. I stared back at her, fingers tightening possessively as she eyed me.

"Kitty..."

 

**_ Kitty – December 1915 _ **

 

His voice was little more than a plea as I strode past him, biting my lip as I turned to stare at the man who had refused, so far to be touched.

"Please, miss..." He whispered, softly, as though his strength was all but gone, "I..."

"Private Cumberbatch?" I took the clipboard with his notes from his bedside and settled down on the bed beside him, "What's wrong?"

His eyes shot open, blue, green and gold shimmering in the half light. Many boys had come in, afraid of the dark, of the Germans who would slip into their reaches in the nights and steal their friends away as trophies, but this one... Private Cumberbatch... His notes said that he was older, and to my mind that meant that he should have known better. Another set of notes, scribbled beneath, said that his fixations were upon gas attacks, the fear of another, and the fear of losing his comrades. He called out in the night for them, writhed in his sheets, but in the mornings, spoke not a word. I bit my lip, concerned, and reached down to touch his shoulder.

"Private?" He nodded, taking a shaky breath, "I'm nurse McCullough, and I'm here to help you get better. Would you like to take a bath? You're awfully muddy." Silently, he looked about him, realising that it was the middle of the night. I smiled, ever so slightly and laid my hand upon the bed beside him, my other hand lightly stroking through his hair. He whimpered a little, and I smiled. "I shall keep you safe, Private. I promise you that I shall."

He nodded, a moment of silence passing between us as he lifted his hand and curled it around the one I had left upon the sheets.

"My name is B-B-Benedict," he whispered. My fingers stilled in his hair and I smiled once again, he squirmed ever so slightly and I let out a soft laugh. "That f-f-feels nice."

"Good," I smiled, "then I shall continue to do it." And I did, until his eyes began to close once more, his hand still curled around mine.

 

**_ Kitty  - 1919 _ **

**__ **

"Benedict," I said his name again, my tongue clacking gently against my teeth as I pulled away. He smiled down at me, and for the longest moment the only two people in the world were he and I. I was aware of his fingers, tight against my hips, tugging gently on the fabric against my skin, and the way in which his height loomed over me, eyes darting this way and that over my face, my arms, my shoulders.

"Kitty, you are a lovely woman." He purred, hands moving closer together, so that they were looped around my waist, "and I should very much like to take you dancing, to dinner, and... Step out with you," he whispered, leaning a little further over my body as he drew me into a tight embrace.

"I should very much like that too," I smiled, "although we may need to have words with the hospital before you're allowed out on your own."

It had only been meant as a kind jest, playful, the implication being that I could spend my time visiting with him in the privacy of his own quarters, rather than drawing him out into the big, wider world, but his response was one of combination shame and fear. He looked down and away, his hands loosening at my waist.

"Benedict-"

"No, no..." He hesitated, then took my hand in his once more, "you are quite correct. We - _I -_ must be passed as match fit, as it were, before we're granted a pass out into town. We’ll have certain curfews and we're signed in and out by the guard at the station by the entrance. It's a lot of... Rigmarole for such a smile event, I'm afraid, and I fear that it will quickly grow tiring for you."

"You think... I would tire of filling out forms to see you?" I laughed, lightly, shaking my head, "I have filled out forms for no reward for many a year to this point, Benedict. Filling out a page in order to take you to dinner, or to the park, or... To the beach, perhaps..." I grinned slightly, hand lifting to run my thumb over the shelf of his is cheekbone, "I beg of you, think on me more fondly than that. You are a reward for which I would feel great privilege to fill in a form."

"I am?" His voice shook, and his lips parted, looking as if he might cry. I took his hand once more and squeezed gently, my cheeks reddening.

"Of course, Benedict. I am very much looking forward to spending time with you, alone, as we have done in these last few minutes." He flushed too, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. I chuckled shyly, looking out across the water to where Thomas was waving his arm at me so frantically. I cringed, looking up at Benedict with another low laugh. "I think perhaps we have been spotted, however."

"We should return. I am sure he shall think that I have... Absconded with you."

"Do not be silly, Benedict, you, I am sure, would never do me harm."

Shyly, he smiled again, lifting his fingers to brush against my cheek. I giggled softly, curling my fingers around his and shaking my head.

"Come," he said, gesturing over my shoulder at the other side of the lake, "I believe Thomas wishes to speak with us."

 

**_ Thomas _ **

 

Dimly, I had been aware that both Kitty and Benedict had taken a turn about the lake. I had been preoccupied with the gentle scent of my Heather's hair, and the way in which it tickled my nose while we sat so happily under the willow tree overhanging the lake shore, and, therefore, had missed the way in which they had drawn closer to one another, until their silhouettes stood almost as one in the stillness of the afternoon. Immediately, I was on guard, Heather shaking gently at my hand and telling me to calm myself, Kitty had been alone with the man in a professional capacity for the long months that he had been suffering more directly, and was more likely to lash out. No doubt, but I was uncomfortable with watching them from so far away when she was likely in need of assistance.

“You, sir, are being far too protective.” Heather gently pressed her hand to my shoulder, watching me as I watched her from the corner of my eye. Kitty had her hands upon Benedict’s cheeks, his arms around her waist as she spoke something into his ear. Mutely, he stared at her, then, as I sat and watched, they pressed themselves together in a romantic entanglement, the length of which could only have been a few moments, but to me, as an observer, felt like a lifetime. Kitty was dear to me, almost a sister, and as I rose to my feet I hoped to project such an image to Benedict as he stood holding her in his arms all the way across the water. They stilled, as Benedict spoke something to Kitty, and she turned to face Heather and I, waving from the far side of the lake as Benedict dared to put his arm around her waist.

Heather chuckled once more, pulling me close to her and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips, and then to my cheeks, her fingers racing gently through my hair.

“Anyone would think you had a soft spot for her, the way you mother her so.” She chuckled, and I shook my head.

“She’s my sister. I just… I wouldn’t see her come to harm, is all.” I nodded, “Not after I had to bring her back from the clearing station. I’m not putting her through all that hurt again.”

She smiled slowly at me, shaking her head.

“You are too good a man, my love,” She kissed my cheeks as the couple neared us, and I took in the way that Benedict held Kitty’s hand with a furious stare and a little more than intensity in my eyes, “Be calm, darling. They have every right to hold hands.”

“She is-”

“A grown woman, Thomas. She may be your family, abut that gives you no right to dictate her life. You have seen her… crumble and grow once again,” She eyed me, taking my hand in hers, “Let her flower.”

“You have a strange use for metaphors, beautiful.” I chuckled, kissing her temple. She laughed and leaned into me as Benedict and Kitty drew near once again. “Darling girl. Benedict.” I stared him down with little softness in my eyes. “I think we ought to talk.”

 


End file.
